


This Chair Ain't Big Enough...

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Sherlock, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mob Boss John, Moll Sherlock, aulock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mob boss John Watson rewards his sweet little moll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Chair Ain't Big Enough...

"What do you say, Honey?" John blew a ring of blue smoke at the ceiling, one thin gold eyebrow quirking up before Sherlock plucked the cigarette from his fingers. When those lush full lips closed around the filter, he could hear one of their clients shift where they stood. 

"I say a lotta things, Big Man." Sherlock leaned across John’s chest and flicked some ash into an exquisite crystal ashtray. The hem of his skirt- worn mostly as a diversionary tactic, partly because it made his gams look divine- slipped up his thigh as he shifted. One of the hired muscle that stood along the wall coughed into his fist, earning a wink from Sherlock before he settled back.  "I say the Morrises on Fleet Street haven’t paid up in three weeks. I say the Morton and Waylight’s up on Tottenham Court have been skimming profits that should be going to protection." He snuggled back against the arm of the chair and trailed his fingers through John’s smartly pomaded hair. "I say Mr. Slaney here knows how deep he’s in right now."

Crushing his hat in his hands as he rocked from foot to foot, the Chicago born gangster cleared his throat. “I. I. Mr. Watson, Sir… I know I’ve-“

"Enough," John’s hand slashed through the air to cut him off. These meetings had been going on for the whole damned day, and he just wanted a cup of hot coffee, a cigarette he could finish himself, and a chance to be buried bollocks deep in his partner-in-crime’s plush arse. "Abe, you’ve got three days to get the hell out of London. If I see or hear of you around again, I’ll send Dixie after you. Understood?"

Slaney stammered out something that sounded like an agreement, and fled the room. “You lot can clear out, too.” John called to the muscle, who all filed out, murmuring their goodnights. “Christ, I thought that would go on forever. C’mere, you.” John grabbed Sherlock by the hip, pulling him over onto his lap.

With a squeak, Sherlock stubbed out the smoke and settled with a knee on either side of John’s lap, hiking up the skirt. The pinstripe material crumpled and he heard a seam pop. He didn’t care, John would just buy him a new one. In fact, it gave them reason to make a mess of it. “Hmph. You’d almost think this was your job, or something.” Sherlock teased, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of John’s ear.

"Hey, I’m working hard." John rested his hands on Sherlock’s thighs, sliding his palms up them until they slipped under the hem of the skirt.

"You certainly are at that." Sherlock smirked and looked down between them to where John was lying thick and hard inside his trousers. The crisp cloth was tented out in front of him, pressing against the inside of Sherlock’s thigh. Stroking his palm over the bulge, Sherlock thumbed open John’s flies, and drew him out. "I want you to fuck me tonight." His voice rumbled impossibly deeper while he pumped his fist. "I don’t care if it takes you forever to get off again, you are going to take me hard in the back of the car. Even if we have to pull to the side of the road, you are going to fuck me from behind, and grab my hair, and make me come all over the seat." His free hand moved up under his skirt to join John, who was groaning softly when he discovered that Sherlock was bare under his suit.

Sherlock widened his thighs to bring himself lower, taking them both in hand. John was thick. So wonderfully thick, and gracefully formed, and perfect.

"Something like this, Honey?" John reached up to tangle his hand in Sherlock’s curls, tugging them out of their meticulously combed coif. He twisted and yanked, pulling Sherlock’s head back until he howled.

Fingers darting everywhere, Sherlock bucked his hips up. “Exactly like that, Big Man.” He turned his head to bite down on the inside of John’s wrist, grinning. The grin turned smug as he let go of John’s cock, and rocked his hips forward until it was sliding between the round swells of his arse. More than anything, he wanted to take it all in, no waiting, all reckless abandon. He licked his thumb and reached back to rub at his hole.

"No, Sherlock, Honey. You can’t. You’re not- Fucking _hell_ Sherlock!”

The stretch and burn was delicious, even if his body wasn’t opening. John’s thick head was pressing hard against his hole, and after a loud moan and a string of curses, the skirt was ruined.

John trailed sloppy kisses over Sherlock’s neck, and smeared the cooling semen over warm skin. “Give me half an hour, and a cup of joe, and I’ll give you everything you need.”

Standing up, Sherlock smoothed out the cloth of the skirt, bringing the hem back down to a respectable length. He patted his hair, and checked that he was tucked in everywhere before reaching into John’s jacket pocket to take out the pack of cigarettes. “Make it twenty-five minutes, and I’ll tell you which family is planning a bank heist for the end of the week.”


End file.
